


Ain't Dead Yet

by Pollydoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8005117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollydoodles/pseuds/Pollydoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It;s an otherwise quiet day in the Wild West when Miss Darcy Lewis seeks out one James Buchanan Barnes, he's fully intending to take the drink she's paid for and leave her be. But a wedge of cash turns his head, and suddenly Barnes is forming a man hunt to track down the fella that shot Lewis' father.  Only problem is, Barnes isn't the quick draw he used to be, not after that accident. </p><p>Enter one Steve Rogers; decent marksman, preacher's son and all around upstanding citizen. Lewis & Barnes are about to change his entire world view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



“You’re a gal.”

“I reckon that ain’t new information for either of us, Mister Barnes.” The petite brunette in front of him bristled visibly. “So if you’re quite past that, I’d like to discuss the matter to which I came a-lookin to you for.”

James Buchanan Barnes sat back in his chair and sighed, fingers itching around the regretfully empty shot glass in front of him. The kid in front of him - she’d say a woman, no doubt, but she was young and he’d bet his last set of spurs on her bein’ green as they came - sat up straighter in her own chair. 

“I don't need no kid hanging on my heels.” He said bluntly, looking over to the bar and gesturing for another bourbon chaser. The barman, a one-eyed old timer called Mac who’d probably been born behind that counter, nodded mutely and pulled the half empty bottle from behind the bar.

“I ain't a-” she began hotly.

“There's a lotta things you ain't, sweetheart, and comin’ with me is just the first of ‘em.” Barnes cut across her, hauling himself up and out of the wooden chair. 

“That man killed my pa.” The girl said quietly, hands thrust into her lap and the knuckles on each whiter than the shine of the moon over the hills as she fought to keep her temper in the check. Barnes sighed.

“Rumlow’s killed a lotta people's everything.” He said, in a tone that most other people would have tempered to be kinder, given the circumstance of what she’d just confessed to him. “You ain't special for that, believe me.”

“I can pay ya.” 

He laughed, looking over to the bar where a fresh short of bourbon sat waiting to meet his lips. “I ain't yet so hard up I need a kid to split open their piggy bank and throw me a coupla dimes.”

There was a thunk on the table as a wedge of cash hit it, and she was looking up at him with fire and defiance burning hot behind those blue eyes. 

“This ain't piggy bank money, Mister Barnes.”

“You carry that around wit’ ya?” He asked, eyes wide and hand rubbing at the stubble around his dropped jaw. He gave her another cursory once over and decided that the Lord did not need him to ask where it was that she'd been keeping it.

“Haven't got a whole lotta choice.”

He dropped back down into his chair and stared at the stack of money on the table between them. Barnes might not need a couple of dimes, but he sure as hell needed a wedge like that. 

“I can't believe I'm sayin’ this.” He muttered to himself. “Can you shoot?”

“My daddy taught me.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” He laughed. “But can you shoot?”

Turned out, she could. She had a terrible stance and clung to the gun like it might turn on her if she didn’t grip it tight enough, but she picked off all three cans he’d set out on the fence from twenty yards out, one by one in quick succession. Barnes rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and thought hard. 

The two of ‘em wouldn’t be enough, that was clear. The girl was young and Barnes was … Well. Barnes was not entirely the man he’d been before. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have an eye for a third, someone with a good clean shot and the ability to take orders when given. 

He tapped the kid on the elbow, and she shoved the gun back in her purse. He fought back the urge to roll his eyes, and made a mental note to find a holster small enough to fit her. She had to hustle to keep up with his stride, two steps to every one of his, and Barnes made no concession to slow for the girl. His duster swung out and he kept his hat tipped low. Barnes was no outlaw - not as so any man could rightfully prove it, anyhow - but he’d long since found it to his advantage not to announce his presence. 

“They said you were the best sharpshooter in the West.”

Her voice piped up somewhere near his elbow, and he grimaced at her words. 

“They did, did they.”

“Before your accident.”

Barnes grimaced a little but did not slow his stride as he answered. 

“Your daddy didn't get around to teachin’ you any manners before he died, did he?”

“My daddy was a straight talker.” 

“Why do I get the feelin’ I'm gonna be hearin’ a helluva lot ‘bout your daddy.” He muttered.

\------

“I’m lookin’ for a man.” Barnes announced loudly to the bar at large, hands shoved into his pockets as he surveyed the clientele in front of him. Sawdust on the floor, bullet holes in the walls, a distinct lack of teeth in the men who had twisted to look at him - it was looking promising already. 

“We don’t serve your sort in here.” Growled the barman, and a shout of laughter rolled around the room. Barnes rolled his eyes. 

“You know,” He said lazily, resting his hip against the bar and gesturing towards the man with a slow grin that travelled like molasses from one side of his face to the other as he tipped his hat back on his head with one finger. “I heard Buffalo Bill Cody was after some kind of funny man for his travellin’ show. I reckon you missed your callin’, son.”

Another small burst of laughter accompanied Barnes’ words, and the barman grumbled under his breath but said no more. Barnes grinned again, and turned back to his audience, now a little more disposed to listen to him. He spread his arms wide, and took a step forward, his boots and spurs thudding against the wooden floor as he moved, the leather duster sweeping behind him. 

“I'm lookin’ for a sharp shooter. Any one o’ you fit that description?”

“What's your price?” Came a call from the back of the room, and Barnes detected more than a hint of interest in it. The faces staring up at him from the tables in front of him indicated the same, and he twisted as he spoke again, making sure that his voice carried across the whole bar. 

“Name yours. Maybe we can come to somethin’ of an agreement.”

A murmur accompanied his statement, and Barnes felt the room shift to his control, like the tightening of a wire on a rabbit. He was close, very close to getting the man he needed. The right one would help him get the job done in days, a tidy sum for them both and the back of Miss Darcy Lewis. 

“Who you goin’ after, anyways?”

Aw, shit.  
So close.  
To that, Barnes did not reply, and let the silence speak for him.

“Aw hell. Ain't nobody gonna join you in chasin’ that. Even for a pretty penny.” 

It was less the words and more the howls of laughter that accompanied them that offended him. Barnes turned with a growl back to the bar, finding the barman slowly cleaning a glass, a smile curling the edges of his mouth into an unattractive smirk. Barnes returned the expression and flung himself into a bar stool. 

“No drink, no seat.” The barman growled, and Barnes tossed him a few coins. He received back a short of bourbon that probably had some added extras. As he was slumped on the stool contemplating his options - and the likely percentage of spit in his drink - he was interrupted in his thoughts by an elbow to the ribs. He turned his head to the right and regarded the man who had done it. 

“I might know someone as daft as you.” The man was grizzled, and had seen more summers than Barnes would have thought possible, living on the frontier as they did. He sidled up to Barnes, a toothless grin plastered over his face and his tongue darting out to wet his lips every other word. “For the right price.”

“And what's that, exactly?” Barnes asked, tossing his drink back in one and swallowing hard with a grimace before turning to the other man fully. 

“Bottle of whiskey.” He said instantly, eyes shining as he spoke, hands clasping together with knobbled fingers that shook a little as he moved them. “The good stuff, mind, none o’ that cheap shit.”

“I reckon you should think on what you consider the right price, but alright. After you find me this daft fella.” Barnes slipped off his stool and gestured for the man to lead on. 

\--------

“Steve Rogers.” The old man pointed him out with a sniff, having led Barnes out of the bar and to the local General Store. The man in question was big, much bigger even than Barnes himself, who was not a small fella by any stretch of the imagination. He was stacking shelves at the back of the store, an apron much too small to fit him tied haphazardly as best he could around his waist. 

“He's a big fella.” Barnes said, unable to find any other words for the man. 

“That he is.” The old man nodded, back bent and head bowed at Barnes’ side, wiping the back of one dirty hand across his mouth in between speaking. Barnes, looking down, shifted a pace to the right away from him. He didn’t seem to mind. “Daddy was a preacher, reckon he'll follow that path soon enough but he's good with a gun and he's got a strong arm.”

“And you know him, do you?” Barnes asked, focus back on Rogers, who was listing down a tin of something or other for a woman less than half his height. 

“Naw.” The old fella snorted and spat heavily on the floor, the gob of saliva collecting in the dust and dirt at their feet. “He's good though.”

“I'm rethinkin’ the value of your information.” Barnes said drily. The man at his side, who was already half way through the value of his information, removed the bottle from his mouth with a wet pop, belched decisively and thumped his own chest hard in response to the noise. 

\-------

“Steve Rogers?”

The man looked up from where he was hunkered down, reaching for a jar on the lowest shelf, and Barnes saw that he had a broad honest face to go with his broad chest. Blue eyes set into a face tanned golden by the sun, sandy blond hair and a cautious expression.

“That's me.” He said, taking in the other man as he spoke, unfolding to his full height from which he looked down at Barnes. “There somethin’ you wanted?”

“I've got a proposition for you.” Barnes answered easily, resting against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the other man. He smiled, in an attempt to look more approachable, and wasn’t sure if he’d managed it. It wasn’t something he’d bothered to practice at much. 

“How’s that, sir?”

“I hear you can shoot.” Barnes said casually, inspecting his fingernails and eyeing the big blond from the corner of his eye as he did so. The other man shifted awkwardly, one foot to the other, clutching onto a large can of chicken feed. 

“Well, I do, a bit.” Rogers answered, looking down at the feed resting against his chest.

“I hear you can shoot more’n a bit, Rogers.” Barnes countered, pushing himself off the door against which he’d been resting, and putting his hands on his hips. “And if that’s the case, well. I’ve got a job with your name on it.”

\------

“She’s a, she’s a - a girl.”

“Glad you’re on board, Rogers.” Barnes said heartily, clapping the other man hard on the shoulder. “I can already tell you’re the kinda sharp eyed young man I’ve been lookin’ for.”

“You can't take a, a, lady out onto the range.” Rogers protested, and Barnes wondered for a moment at the strict upbringing the man must have had to look at the little hellcat and still call her a lady. He also kept one eye on the little brunette practically vibrating by his side, and bet himself a new holster that the man would actually apologise to her if she hauled off and socked him one. 

“Mister Rogers-” The girl started, all heat and anger, and Barnes sighed and put his hand over her mouth. 

“Could you just excuse us for a second?” He said to the other man, hand still firmly across the girl’s mouth and hoping like hell she wasn't going to bite him. Rogers nodded, cautiously, so Barnes tipped his head politely and dragged the girl backwards with him.

Releasing her, she rounded on him, practically spitting like a cat.

“Why do we need him?” She hissed at him, glaring around him at the big blond lug. Barnes signed heartily and pinched the bridge of his nose before answering. 

“Because, missy, as you so delicately pointed out, I am no longer the fastest draw in these parts.”

“I can shoot.” She snapped it back at him like it was a weapon, like a gun to be fired. He laughed, tipping his head right back and letting the sound wash over them both. 

“Your daddy taught you to shoot a tin can good, I'll grant you that.” He nodded, then spat his tobacco hard on the ground. “That tin can absolutely ain't gettin’ back up, but it was never gonna draw first and it sure as shit weren't gonna shoot you in your pretty little head, which is what Rumlow’ll do to ya before you've gotten that toy gun outta your purse to aim it.”

Her face pinked up a treat, he thought idly, like he'd slapped her good and hard just with what he'd said to her. She took a step back from him, setting her shoulders and tilting her chin and yeah, this kid was a hellcat and no mistake. Barnes shook his head. Half of him admired her for her guts, the other half recognised that she was going to be a pain in his ass and no mistake. 

“Square?” He asked, and she shot a hard look back at Rogers, then nodded. With reluctance. Barnes clapped his hands together and hollered over at the other man, who turned back to them with an expression that suggested he genuinely hadn’t been listening in on the conversation. 

“Sort out your horse, Rogers, we ride out now.”

\-------

“The hell is that?”

“It's a horse.” Rogers said, looked confused as he glanced between Barnes and what stood flicking its tail lazily at the other end of the rope he was holding.

“It's half a horse, at best.” Barnes ran a frustrated hand through his hair, longish and in need of a trim he didn’t have time to give it. “Look at it, it's skin n’ bone and probably held together with prayer.”

“She'll be fine.” Rogers said firmly, clapping one large hand to the horse’s neck. Barnes didn’t miss the dust cloud that erupted from the animal’s fur, making even Rogers cough hard and turn away. Barnes rolled his eyes. 

“She? If you're about to tell me you've named the damn thing-”

Rogers, who’d turned a telling shade of red at the suggestion from Barnes, was saved from having to confess his sin by the arrival of the girl. She’d collected up the last of her things - Barnes took care not to dwell on the fact that it was a pitifully small bundle by anyone’s standards - and now stood in front of him with a familiarly defiant look on her face. 

“That daddy of yours teach you how to ride?” He asked, rolling a wad of tobacco around his teeth as he spoke, preparing to spit it on the floor once the flavour had been sucked out. Her chin tilted again and she hefted the small bag on her shoulder before answering. 

“I can ride sidesaddle.”

“Well that ain't no use to nobody, sweetheart.” He paused, giving her a cursory once over. “You need some britches, for starters.”

“Barnes-” Rogers started warningly, from behind them. 

“You can have her in a dress if you want, Rogers, but she's going on your nag with you.” Barnes tossed the words over his shoulder without looking at the other man, and smiled broadly when he was rewarded with a low choking sound. “You think you can wrangle petticoats and whatnot as well as a pommel and the rest of it, you go right ahead and be my guest.”

He spun on his heel to face Rogers. The other man opened his mouth as if to argue back, caught the warning look on Barnes’ and shut it again. 

“That’s what I thought. Now take this -” Barnes shoved a fistful of dollars from his pocket at the other man’s chest and he fumbled to take it. “-And go get the smallest pair of britches the General Store can fetch ya.”

“Buy ‘em?” Rogers said, confused, juggling the money and the end of the rope that was hanging from the clothesline he was insisting on calling a horse. 

“Well she ain’t gettin’ in my britches, son.” Barnes snapped, grabbing the rope from him and removing the conundrum the other man had found himself in. “And you’re even bigger. She might fit in one leg of ‘em, I s’pose. You willin’ to share?”

Rogers came back half an hour later, stuffing dollars and dimes back at Barnes and a pair of well-worn britches at the girl, and looking neither of them in the eye. 

“You get into those, kid.” Barnes said, pointing at Darcy. “We’ll just wait right here.”

\-------

“Oh.” Rogers breathed beside him, and Barnes turned, snatching the half-finished cigarette from his mouth. Darcy had appeared, pants on and the smallest of his shirts he'd been able to find that wasn't ripped in places she'd - or more likely Rogers - would no doubt consider impolite. 

“Lookin’ good, missy.” He grinned, and elbowed the man at his side who didn't seem able to form words. Glancing back at Rogers, Barnes thought he'd bet a pretty penny that it wasn't all righteous indignation at seeing a gal in pants, either. 

“You want her in front or behind?”

Rogers started violently, almost dropping the saddle he was holding and just managing at the last minute to save it from meeting a watery grave in the trough next to him. His mouth started to stutter, though the words that came out of it wouldn’t have made sense to a patient man. James Buchanan Barnes had been accused of a lot of things in his time, but patient was not one of them. 

“Saddle that damn horse, Rogers. Quit your yappin’.” He said impatiently, and the other man swallowed and darted a quick look at where the girl was shoving her dress and petticoats into saddlebags, a look of grim determination on her face as she did it. Barnes, amused, watched as his gaze lingered on the way that Darcy’s pants hugged the curve of her ass before hauling the saddle up onto Barnes’ horse and securing the girth. 

“I’ll walk him out for you,” Rogers offered, then attempted - badly - to mount the horse. 

“You ain’t gettin’ on him that way.” Barnes was amused, leaning back against the fence and watching as Rogers grew red in the face trying to get on his horse. 

“What’s wrong with this thing-” Rogers hopped on one foot as the horse span, crow-hopping in front of them with the man bouncing a beat just behind it. One hand on the pommel, grasping at a fistful of reins and the other trying to free his foot from the stirrup, the blond panted as the horse sped up. 

“He’s Injun-broke.” Barnes said, crossing his legs and leaning back, chewing on a wad of tobacco. “Right hand side, son, not the left.”

“Why-” Rogers huffed as he bounced past. “Would you-” The horse turned on the spot, and Rogers twisted awkwardly. “Train a horse-”

“Because I didn’t train the damn horse.” Barnes said, still chewing. “Bartered for him off the natives. It’s how they ride, Rogers.”

The man finally managed to extract his foot out of the stirrup and yanked back on the reins, pulling the horse up short and jerking its head high. Foam collected at the corners of its mouth and it fretted, pawing at the ground with one front leg. Rogers sighed audibly, then ducked his head under the horse’s neck to fix Barnes with a dark look. 

“Bartered?” 

It was almost not a question, the tone of his voice. 

“Yup.” The dark-haired man wrinkled his nose, then rubbed his thumb over the end of it, tipping his head back and squinting up at the bright sun as it hung in the sky before he deigned to answer further.

“Bartered in spades and diamonds.” He grinned at the look on the other man’s face. 

“Gamblin’.” Rogers wore his customary look of disapproval. 

“That's how it's done.” Barnes said, inspecting his boots as he spoke. “They ain't interested in your money, Rogers. Only in bartering.”

“Gamblin’ ain't bartering.” The other man said flatly. 

“Depends how you look at it.” Barnes said simply. “Right, saddle up, we’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

\-------

“Hold up now, we don’t want to bake the horses.” Barnes held up his good arm as he spoke, and Rogers hauled on his reins, skidding to a halt next to him. Barnes looked across to where the girl was starting to sag in tiredness against the broad expanse of Roger’s chest. 

“Reckon it’s best for us all to turn in now.” He said, nodding to the other man. “Get some shut-eye then wake with the birds t’morrow.”

They reeled into a suitable clearing, and dismounted. Barnes, unstrapping his bedroll from the saddle of his horse, glanced over at the other two. Rogers, predictably, had extended his arms to help the girl down. Lewis, predictably, had dismounted the other side in order to avoid the help. He shook his head. 

“Well, we got two tents-” Barnes began, and was instantly interrupted. Predictably. 

“I can sleep outside, I don't mind.” Rogers said immediately, like Barnes knew he would.

“I can sleep outside, it's fine.” Darcy said instantly, glaring over at Rogers, just like Barnes knew she would.

“I got an idea,” He said, rolling both the words and the rub of tobacco around his mouth as he spoke. “Why don't the both of y'all sleep outside, and leave the spare tent to the nags? That way, you-” He pointed at Darcy. “Can prove you're just as tough as a man, even though the sun’s barely set on the hills ‘n’ you're already shiverin’.”

She scowled at him, and wrapped her shawl tighter across her chest, opening her mouth as if to answer him but Barnes was already moving on. 

“And you-” He tipped his head toward Rogers, who stood up a little straighter. “Can sleep outside and get summa those nails to go with the cross you're carryin’ on your back every damn day, ‘n’ make yourself a real martyr.”

Rogers’ jaw worked but he couldn't seem to manage the right words, for nothing came out.

“And I-” He smiled. “Can get a good night's rest in a tent by my lonesome, without you two goin’ at each other all night long.”

“I don't go at her.” Rogers interrupted. He gave Darcy a sidelong look, then lowered his voice slightly. “She argues with me, I don't try to-”

“Not what I meant, Rogers.” 

And boy did he flush bright at that one, with another sideways glance at the girl, checkin’ on her not knowin’ what Barnes had meant. 

“I'm gonna fetch up some kindling.” Rogers said shortly, and stomped away. 

“You find a stream on your travels, son, you let us know.” Barnes hollered after him, watching with amusement the stiff backed walk and tense set to the other man's shoulders. And maybe you can use it to cool your heels, Barnes added silently. Lord knows but you're too uptight to let it wash away your sins. 

“You gonna make me sleep in the tent?” Darcy asked quietly, arms folded, as the other man disappered. 

“Nope.” Barnes said shortly, resting back against a tree and pulling out a knife to whittle with. He did not look up at her. “I don't give two hoots where you sleep, darlin’. I ain't your daddy.”

“You're not actually goin’ to let her sleep outside?” Rogers grabbed at his elbow and hissed into his ear upon his return, having dumped an armful of kindling on the ground. Barnes fought back the rising urge to show him the business end of a decent right hook, and shook him off instead.

“You can kip in with me. Princess can have the other tent all to herself.” Barnes could see Rogers visibly relax in front of him, and rolled his eyes. “One hint of a snore out of you, though, and you're out with the horses. You hear me?”

The other man grinned slightly, though there was little to no humour in it.

“Yeah, yeah, I getcha.” Barnes said. “There's no soul that's ever been in a position to let ya know. Well I will be, and the way you'll know is my boot hittin’ your face shortly before I kick your ass outta that tent, so keep that in mind.”

Rogers didn't snore. And moreover he was polite enough not to mention that Barnes did, loud and deep. He knew this because, unlike the blond man, he'd taken plenty of opportunity to let people be in the appropriate position. Stumbling from the tent in the morning and stretching his arms up above his head to the tune of the dawn chorus, he nodded. 

“Rise and shine. Today is another long day.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Jesus, Rogers.” Barnes stopped stock still where he was on the banks of the stream they’d found, and stared at the muscles on the man in front of him, waist deep in the slow flowing stream and paused in the act of washing.

“What?” The man in question narrowed his eyes at Barnes’ liberal use of the Lord’s name. 

“You hidin’ all that under those clothes o’ yours.” Barnes whistled, and Rogers blushed and ducked his shoulders under the waterline. The dark haired man laughed, and shucked his own shirt and long johns at the shore before wading into the stream.

“S’only what the Lord gave me.” Rogers muttered, splashing water over his face and through his hair. 

“Looks to me like he gave you yours and then a few other fellas’ as well.” Barnes said, as he laid his head back and wet his hair in the water too, letting himself float with his eyes closed. The morning’s sun just beginning to shift, turn hotter, starting to warm the water properly. 

“Y’all sleep well?” Came a voice from the bank, and Barnes cracked an eye reluctantly to find the little brunette dumping her toiletries on a rock, one hand shading her eyes from the sun as she looked down on the stream. 

“Miss Lewis-” Rogers spluttered out just before he ducked himself as far below the waterline as he could without actually drowning himself. 

“Miss Lewis nothin’.” The girl said haughtily from the shore. “You think I'm gonna stay dusty n’ dirty whilst you two clean up?”

Barnes, floating lazily in the cool waters and having none of the delicate sensibilities that Rogers had, watched in amusement as the other man's face cycled an interesting few shades of red whilst he tried to work out the gentlemanly thing to do. 

“Sweetheart, just keep your shift on for God’s sake.” Barnes called eventually, just about keeping his laughter to himself as the other man fretted before him, shaking his hair like a dog before continuing. “If Rogers sees you as our Lord and Saviour intended we might lose him altogether. Uptight as he is, boy’s a good shot and we're gonna need him.”

Rogers, cheeks a bright pink both from the suggestion of a naked Darcy and irritation at Barnes needling him again, turned his back on the shoreline. Barnes winked at Darcy, who shrugged back. She left the shift on as instructed, and Barnes dutifully turned his head as well as she slipped into the cool water. 

\-------

“You wantin’ some bourbon in your belly? Start the day right?” Barnes asked, offering out the bottle towards the other man. Rogers paused in tying his bedroll to the saddle of his horse only long enough to give Barnes a sour look in response to his question. 

Barnes sighed, before pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth, spitting it into his free hand and knocking back a long drag of the liquid within before continuing. 

“You don't drink, you don't smoke. What in the hell do you do, Rogers? And for the love of God, if the next words outta your sorry mouth involve church or singin’, I'm leavin’ you at the next homestead we come across.”

Rogers didn’t bother to look back at him before swinging up onto the horse and offering a hand to Darcy, waiting at his side. Barnes snorted, took another drag then shoved the cork back into the bottle, stowing it in his own saddle bags and swinging up onto his own horse in one easy movement. 

\-------

“You two, wait here.” Barnes swung off his horse and looped the lariat over the hitching rail. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair, shaking it out and wiping the back of his hand across his suntanned forehead. “Gotta visit an old friend.”

“But-”

Steve had also dismounted, swinging his leg up and over before dropping into the dust, leaving the girl perched on top of the horse clutching at the pommel. The paint horse sighed heavily and dropped its head low, muzzle grazing along the dirt as it rested one hind leg. 

“But what?” Barnes said, not looking at him as he shrugged off his duster. 

“But that's a…” Rogers trailed off, looking around him at Darcy, who was listening from her perch on his horse with undisguised interest, and dropped his voice. “That's a brothel.”

Barnes grinned. 

“First, I want you to know I'm proud of you for knowin’ what that is.” He clapped a hand to the other man’s shoulder as he spoke. “Second, if you got a better idea where to find a prostitute than a cat house, speak on up, son.” Rogers looked scandalised, so much so that he didn't even look back at the girl again. Behind him, Darcy grinned. 

“You said friend-” The man hissed, shaking Barnes’ hand from his shoulder. 

“She is a friend.” Barnes said, tipping the brim of his hat back and looking up at the building in front of them. “Leastways I’m countin’ on her still bein’ a friend.” 

\--------

“Natasha.” 

She slapped him, hard. Barnes worked his jaw, one hand smoothing over the stubble and wincing slightly at the sting against his face. The woman had a decent right hook, and no mistake. It was one of the reasons he liked her so much.

“Guess I deserved that.”

“Guessin’ you did.” The redhead stepped back, arms folded over her chest and the very devil of a challenge in her eye. She wasn't givin’ no quarter on him. Barnes grinned. God but he'd missed her. He slung his duster over the back of a chair, and took a step closer to her. 

She didn’t move, and he took another step until he was a bare inch from her. Barnes looked down, let his gaze run over the fancy ringlets her hair had been curled into, the creamy pale curve of her breasts as they pushed against the corset she wore. His fingertips brushed at her waist, before sliding down her hips and grasping more firmly. 

“You better pay up this time.” She said, warningly, and in response he grabbed at her wrist, pulled it forward until her hand was pressed flush against the front of his trousers. Her green eyes, heavily kohl-lined, flickered up towards his face before she grasped at him. 

“Feel that?” He murmured. 

“James Barnes.” She said, looking up at him playfully as her fingers danced across the bulge in his trouser pocket where the money bag he’d stuffed was barely fit into it. “You been robbin’ banks again?”

“Hey now,” Barnes answered easily, directing her other hand to his chest as one of his glanced over hers, his free hand sneaking up under her ruffled skirt to palm her ass and pull her against him fully. “That was never proven.” 

Natasha laughed, and let him draw her into a kiss that was perhaps a little too tender, from both sides, given the circumstance. He growled into her ear, breaking away from her mouth as she let her fingers glide over the front of his trousers and popped the first button. 

Peppering kisses along her exposed collarbone, lower and lower until he was mouthing at the curves of her breasts, straining against the pretty black corset she was wearing, he fumbled at his pocket and pulled out the money bag, tossing it behind him without looking to the vanity table at the wall. Natasha slipped a hand into the front of his trousers, the waistband loosened by the loss of his top button, and he panted to undo the rest for her. 

She licked a stripe from his jawbone to where his collar lay open as she shoved his trousers down. They pooled at his feet and he kicked off his boots and stepped out of the clothing, hands in all places as his mouth met hers again. 

“S’been a while, Jimmy.” She murmured, her head rolling back as he hoisted her eagerly, bringing her legs around his waist. He nodded, kissing at every bit of bare skin available to him as he walked backward and sat down heavy on the bed. The ancient springs creaked and groaned under their combined weight, and she groaned too as he slipped a hand from where it had been clutching at her ass, finding his way under her skirts and between her legs. 

“Reckon I still know how to make you scream, though.” He grinned as he ran one finger, then two, across her. Natasha shuddered above him, rocking her hips down to his hand and clasping at his shoulders. 

“I’m paid to scream, dummy.” She muttered into his ear, and Barnes said nothing but twisted a finger up and into her in response, sliding his thumb over her at the same time. Natasha gasped and bit down into his shoulder, grinding down against his hand as it moved within her. His cock pushed up between her legs, nudging its way by his hand. 

“You paid to make that pretty little noise, too, darlin’?” 

He choked out a laugh as she pushed him down, one hand one each shoulder, onto the mattress with thighs spread over his own, riding against his hand with a determined look in her eye. His hips jerked against her, cock slipping back until it was resting against her ass, hot and hard, waiting for more.

Barnes kept pumping, his free hand gripping at her thigh and then trailing up her waist to trace the curve of the underside of her breast. He twisted and slid his fingers against her, then slipped another in to join the first, earning himself another moan from the redhead. 

“You want something else, Tasha?” He murmured, squeezing at her, his own eyes half lidded in lust as he watched her shudder over him. She was wet, slick and easy, more than halfway to her own end and he wanted to feel her come around him. 

She nodded, chasing the line of his mouth with her tongue before stealing a deep kiss and bracing her hands on his chest. He grunted as he lifted her hips and slid his cock home. He swore, hard, half a curse and half a prayer at feeling her clench around him. He filled her in one deep thrust and then Natasha was riding him, hard and fast with her legs clamped close to his sides. 

Barnes let his eyes close and bit down hard on his lip until he could feel the sharp taste of copper flood into his mouth, working on keeping his cool as she moved. Still he thrust upwards, feeling her meet him on every stroke, feeling her slick over him and a familiar shudder running through her, top to toe. 

She came with a low moan, head tucked against his ear and Barnes could hold on no longer, jerking up into her once, twice, and finally spilling as his fingers dug deep into her thighs. Natasha slumped against him, and he brought a lazy hand from her leg to her head, petting at her curls. She swatted him away and rolled off, sitting up. 

“I just set these.” She said primly, glancing at her reflection in the mirror, one hand to the curls and making sure they were still in place. “You ain’t that good.” Barnes laughed, stretched out on the mattress with his hands behind his head, shirt rumpled and sweat stained. The redhead unfolded elegantly from the bed and crossed the room, letting her skirts fall back into place as she moved, delicate across the floor. 

“What’s this?” Natasha pulled back from the window, and shot Barnes a questioning look. He sat up with some effort, propped on his elbows and looked across to the window. Over her delicate shoulder, he could see Darcy and Rogers stood outside, still waiting on him. 

“You runnin’ with kids and sapheads now?” 

“They ain’t that bad.” Barnes said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“If you're feelin’ the need to say that, I'm pretty sure they are.” Natasha said, turning back to him with a pretty little half smile and more than a knowing look on her face as she gave him a cursory once over.

\------

“You can call me Darcy, y’know.” The little brunette said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “It is my name.” She had struggled her way down from the horse, refusing his offer of help, slithering awkwardly until her boots hit the dust. The paint horse flicked its tail and shook its head, sending up a cloud of flies that flushed together against the blue of the sky and then resettled on the horse’s withers. 

“Barnes doesn't call you Darcy.” Rogers said, his ass parked against the hitching rail and hands clasped together neatly, resting in front of him. His hat was tipped low against the beat of the afternoon sun, casting a shade across his broad face. 

“No, he calls me sweetheart. Or darlin’. Or kid.” She looked the most disgusted at the last, and Rogers felt the corners of his mouth tug a little, threatening a smile. 

“You are a kid.” He said, checking her reaction in his peripheral vision. 

“Ain't no kid.” She said, scuffing her heel in the dirt, then looked up at him slyly. “Got all the right bits n’ pieces, means I’m no child.” Rogers turned pink around the ears, but he managed to swallow down anything else, hoping that the brim of his hat would hide the colour of his face. 

\------

“What is it you’re lookin’ for, Jimmy?”

“Why, I have to be lookin’ for somethin’ to pay a call to the prettiest girl in the West?” Barnes offered, still sat on the bed, now with his back resting against the headboard, one arm looped easily around a bent knee. He shot her an affronted look that he knew full well wouldn’t count for shit with the redhead. 

“Flattery works best if you’re butterin’ up a person with things that ain’t true.” Natasha said flatly. “Makes ‘em think they might be. Anyhow, everyone’s always lookin’ for somethin’, and you, James Buchanan Barnes, are the worst of ‘em.”

“Well, count me wounded, Tasha.” He grinned, no semblance of offence upon his face. Barnes let his blue eyes rake across her, and he wondered briefly if he had it in him to go another round. It had been a while, and no mistake. He let his tongue wet his lower lip, and looked up at her from lowered lashes. 

“I need information.” 

“Well now, that’s a new one on me,” Natasha said, scoffing and turning her back to him, propping one leg up onto her little vanity table chair and adjusting the garter around her thigh. “Enlighten me, Barnes, is that where I’m on my back, or kneelin’?”

“You’re smarter’n that, Tasha.” He said easily, watching her movements idly. “You and I both know everyone who’s anyone comes through this town, and then through this cat house; and anyone worth their salt is askin’ for the best, and the best is you.”

“I have not so far heard anythin’ I didn’t already know.” The redhead said, inspecting her nails and tapping her foot against the wooden floorboards, waiting on him to get to the point. He grinned. She hadn’t changed a stitch, his clever little Natasha. 

“So your pillow talk is the most… Interestin’.” Barnes said, shifting off the bed and making his way to her, dropping his head to brush his lips tenderly across the porcelain curves of her pale shoulders, bared to him. 

“It is.” She agreed, rolling her head back so that her throat was exposed, and he kissed his way from her sternum to her jawline before speaking again, his voice low as he murmured into her ear, the little curled tendrils moving with the warmth of his breath against her. 

“So that, darlin’, is worth somethin’.”

She hummed, leaning back into him and pressing her hips back against his groin where he was beginning to stir once more. His hand drifted to her waist whilst the other traced nonsense circles over the bare skin of her shoulder. 

“The question, James Barnes, is what is it worth to you?”

\--------

“Hey, mister.” 

Rogers turned his head slightly, as did Darcy, to find a group of small children staring up at the blond man. The one who had spoken, grubby faced and squinting up at him with one hand shading his face from the sun, looked to be about ten. 

“Yes?” Rogers asked, glancing back at Darcy and shifting his body between her and the group. She noticed, and with a defiant tilt to her chin stepped forward so that she was level with him. He forced back the sigh that threatened to rise in his throat. 

“You’re big, ain’t ya.” The boy observed, and Rogers snapped his head back to the kid, having momentarily forgotten about him. 

“Uh,” He said, lost for words. “I guess?”

“Could you punch a horse?” The kid asked, tipping his head to one side and giving the man a once over. Rogers huffed in surprise, and the girl stifled a giggle into her hand. 

“Why would anyone want to punch a horse?” Rogers asked, exasperated and not a little blindsided by the question. 

“Someone might.” The boy shrugged, raising skinny shoulders under a grubby shirt too large for him. The other children nodded solemnly behind him. “I heard a fella did it once, two towns over. Punched it right out.”

“I - I don’t -” Rogers shook his head in confusion. “I have not ever in my life punched a horse, and I am not lookin’ to start. So scram.” The kids scattered, laughing, and Rogers turned to find Darcy’s shoulders shaking as she giggled into her hand still. 

\---------

“You gon’ take me properly, or are you too old now?” 

Barnes grinned into the curve of her shoulder as she ground back against him, her teasing words only spurring him on as he bent her across the little table and her toiletries scattered. He thrust into her, hands gripping at her hips and pulling her back onto him, his cock hard and eager as he slid back and forth in her. 

Her skirts bunched up and his trousers around his ankles, he let a hand slip from her waist to find its way between her thighs. She breathed in sharply as his fingers glanced along her, twisting and teasing in hard contrast to the punishing pace he kept up with his cock. 

“You gon’ make those pretty little noises again, darlin’?” Barnes panted, working her every way he could, fingers still thrumming between her thighs as he pumped forward. Natasha, head bent and hands braced on the little table in front of them, arched her back and hissed through her teeth as he found a particularly sensitive spot. 

He groaned, shifting against her and fingers moving faster, chasing her end as well as his own. He was rewarded seconds later by a telltale sigh that had him thrusting wildly once, twice and then a final time before clutching at her hips with hands that dug a little deep, his forehead dropping forward to rest against the curve of her back. 

Barnes pressed his lips together in a light kiss over her bare skin before pulling away from her and hauling up his trousers. Natasha let her skirts fall back as he threaded his belt back through the loops on his trousers and slowly buckled it again. The dark haired man pushed a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and sat back on the edge of the bed with a satisfied groan of his own. 

Tasha sighed as she turned to look at him, then propped one leg up on the foot of the bed and drew back the hem of her dress once more, exposing a creamy white thigh and the lace garter belt that wrapped its way around it. 

“This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.” She said as she slipped the palm sized gun out of its holster and popped open the barrel with a deft flick of her wrist to check how many bullets were loaded.

Barnes edged back on the bed, drawing his legs up onto the mattress and looked up at the redhead as she snapped the gun shut again. 

“I think you might be wrong there, Tasha.”

She smiled at him. 

“I always get that bit mixed up.” She levelled the gun at him, one leg still poised on the edge of the bed as she aimed. “It's definitely gon’ hurt you.”

\---------

“She likes me.”

“She shot you.” Rogers said incredulously, one arm looped up and under his own, supporting him easily as Barnes blinked and the world rolled alarmingly to one side and back again. 

The man had appeared, bleeding and listing wildly to one side, at the front door of the brothel. Darcy and Rogers had watched, taken aback, as he staggered two steps forward and then collapsed on the veranda. Rogers reached him in three long strides and hauled him up, dragging Barnes across the dusty street and into the nearest bar. 

“Yeah, but only in the shoulder.” He panted, taking the handkerchief away from the hole for a moment, regarding the crimson splash seeping into the cream fabric and slapping it back again. He grunted as the bullet shifted where it was embedded in the muscle. Rogers looked pained, but helped him into a chair, where he collapsed. Darcy hovered, looking from the dark haired man in the chair with one hand pressed into his shoulder, to the big blond man who stood between them. 

“If she really didn’t like me, she’d’ve shot me in the balls.” Barnes wheezed, and pulled the square away from the bloody hole again. He inspected it with a grimace and let his head roll back against the chair. “Pass me the bourbon, would ya?”

“I think you’ve had enough-”

“It’s not for my mouth, idjit.” Barnes snapped, and snatched the bottle from the other man, pulling the cork out with his teeth and spitting it heartily to one side. “It’s for the damn hole in my arm.” He sloshed the contents of the bottle over the entry wound, wincing as it stung across it. 

“Hold this-” Barnes shoved the bottle back at Rogers, who fumbled but managed not to drop it. The dark-haired man considered for a moment, looking at the other man, then pulled the bottle back, raising it to his lips and taking a good long drag on it. Smacking his mouth at more than just the sweet amber taste of it, keeping a wide smile to himself as much as possible at the scandalised look on Rogers’ face, he passed it back again. 

“Right.” He mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, and set about digging in his shoulder for the bullet Tasha had left in him. Rogers clutched the bottle to his chest and looked distinctly green as Barnes rooted around inside himself for the telltale hardness of the shrapnel he knew was in there. 

Blood spurted over his fingertips and he swore colourfully, digging in harder and gritting his teeth through the pain of it. Darcy took a step back, and Rogers clung onto the bottle still. Barnes twisted his fingers into the hole, wriggling them until he brushed across the metal. With a grunt he pulled it out, another gush of blood accompanying its exit. 

He swore again, and let it drop on the floor where it thumped into the sawdust covered wood, staining the dust with blood as it rolled before coming to a rest against the chairleg. Blood seeped from Barnes’ shoulder, spreading quickly across his linen shirt. He stuffed the handkerchief firmly into the wound, wincing as he did so. 

“The woman shot you.” Rogers said again, staring down at him as he said it, like it had somehow escaped Barnes’ notice that he’d been pumped full of lead. 

“Appearances.” He hissed, and grabbed for the bourbon again. Rogers moved it out of reach and Barnes tried to calculate how much energy it would take to kick the other man in the shin, and whether he could afford to waste it. 

“She can’t be-” He paused, wheezing a little, before sucking in a deep breath and continuing. “She can’t be seen to be fraternising with me. Outside of the usual monetary transactions. See?”

Rogers shook his head, and Barnes sighed. Of course Rogers, who believed in the truth like it was a real, tangible thing that a person could hold and touch, like bacon on your breakfast plate, wouldn’t be able to grasp the idea of subterfuge. He wondered briefly if Rogers had ever not told the truth in his life. 

“Natasha… Natasha ensures that some of the most important men who pass through this horse-shit town are-” He grinned. “Taken care of.” Rogers looked like he wanted to spit on the floor, but refrained. Barnes rolled his eyes. 

“So, to keep that position, she can’t be openly friendly with the man she’s passin’ information towards about those aforementioned important people. Understand?”

“So she shot you.”

“Yes, she damn well shot me. You want I should shoot you, see if that helps drive it home?”

\----------

“Can’t we get her a dude horse?” Rogers said under his breath. 

They’d made it awkwardly back to camp, Barnes slumped on his horse and curled in on himself, periodically slugging from his ever-decreasing bottle of bourbon. He was nearing the end of it as they made camp, but his saddle bags clinked with the other bottles he’d rounded up before they left town. 

“You not so keen to have a warm body pressed up against you all day, Rogers?” Barnes said idly, sparking his knife on the flint to get the campfire going, and knowing it would wind the other man tighter than a rattlesnake looking to strike. 

“It would be quicker.” Rogers ground out, working hard not to take the bait Barnes had laid out. 

“Naw, it wouldn’t.” Barnes said, sitting back as the kindling flared, died and then caught properly. “Dude horse is fine if you’re lookin’ to take a kiddie on a joy ride for ten minutes. It is the worst beast to trek over the plains to a pace that needs keepin’.”

Rogers opened his mouth as if to argue, but shut it again when Darcy appeared at the campfire edge, hair damp from where she’d been washing in the stream. She threw herself down across from Barnes, and stretched her arms above her head, yawning. Barnes caught Rogers looking as the girl reached skyward, her breasts pressing together in interesting ways as she moved. 

Barnes shot the other man a wink as he caught his eye, and Rogers looked down hurriedly, throwing more kindling onto the fire so that it flared up wildly before dying down to a reasonable flame. The dark haired man grinned, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning back against his bedroll. 

“On the one hand I am disappointed in you for not tastin’ this fine bourbon, Rogers.” He said lazily, toasting the other man with the half-empty bottle, a new one he’d fetched up from his saddle bags after they’d rolled the tents out and pitched them once more. “On the other, I get it all to myself so I guess I'm winnin’.” 

“Not all to yourself.” Darcy tipped her chin, all defiant like, and Barnes had just enough liquor in him already to catch the warning look on the other man's face from across the campfire and decide to do what he could to darken it further. 

He held out the glass.

The girl took it, and the first sip against her tongue had her gasping and Barnes laughing. 

“Not like that, sweetheart. You gotta knock it straight down that pretty throat of yours. Like this-” He leaned forward and plucked the glass back, throwing his head back and letting it burn it's way down his throat fast. Chasing the last drop over his lower lip, Barnes filled a generous measure back into the glass and held it back out to the girl. Rogers frowned.

“Try again.”

This time, she sucked it straight down in one and came back choking but with a fire in her eyes as she shoved the glass back at him. 

“That'll keep you warm at night.”

“M’goin to bed.” Rogers said, a sour look on his face as he scrambled to his feet, deliberately not looking across to where Barnes was pouring out another decent shot of bourbon.

“Don't be like that.” Barnes said without looking up.

“Stay,” The girl said, blinking up at the other man with her pale face lit by the full moon, and for a moment Barnes saw the hesitation in Rogers’ expression and thought he might actually join them. 

The moment passed, and Rogers ducked his head down and crawled into the tent they were sharing. Barnes shook his head. Boy needed to loosen up, and no mistake. He shucked back the shot glass, letting a little moan of pleasure escape him as he swallowed it down. He caught the girl looking, and filled it again, handing it over to her. 

This she threw back in the same manner he had, and Barnes was amused to see the stoic expression on her delicate face as she worked hard not to cough it back in front of him. Her cheeks flushed a rosy red, and he could see the glaze start in her eyes. 

He took the glass back, plucking it from her small hand, and knocked himself back another glass, then another, in quick succession, before handing her one back in return. She swallowed it down, the glaze deepening in her blue eyes, the campfire reflecting them back to him like two little stars captured from the night sky. 

She shifted a little closer, and Barnes noticed that she’d not buttoned her shirt all the way up to her neck after bathing. Instead it was hanging loose, flashing him a glimpse of pale skin brightened by the moon overhead, a bright white against the dark of her hair which fell loose over her shoulders. The girl held out the glass to him, hand trembling a little with eyes half-lidded, and he silently filled it back for her. 

Somewhere on the mountain, a coyote howled, joined shortly by its packmates, making love to the silvery moon as it hung above them. 

Darcy threw the shot back, keeping her head tilted and he watched languidly as the line of her throat worked the liquor down. He could feel his shoulders sagging, the drink working on him, the sharp pain from the gunshot wound fading to a dull ache as the alcohol flooded his system. 

The girl fixed him with a look, coy like and from the side of her eye. “You had many women, James Barnes?”

“Enough.” He said easily, following his words with another long drag of bourbon straight from the bottle that burned pleasantly down the back of his throat and left a sweet honey taste dancing across his tongue. Barnes stared down into the bottle, contemplating how many shots were left and how many bottles he still had in his saddle bags, when he realised that she’d shuffled even closer to him. 

Her legs were brushed up against his own, her head practically on his shoulder as she stared up at him, smaller even with them both sitting in the dirt. Those big blue eyes of hers were wide, and as he regarded her, the little pink lips fell open just a touch as she gazed at him right back. 

“Kid,” Barnes breathed at her, the tendrils of dark hair that curled around her face moving with it as he spoke. “You don’t want this.”

“You know what I want all of a sudden?” She said, tilting her chin at him.

“Sure do, sweetheart.” He nodded, and ran his thumb down her smooth cheek until he reached her mouth, and dragged it slowly across her lower lip. He leaned in closer to her, until their breath mingled hot between them. Less than an inch remained between their lips and the girl edged ever forward, her hands on the outside of his thighs. 

Barnes inhaled deeply. 

“You need water, and sleep. Up.” He sat back abruptly, and she fell forward into his chest, unprepared for the sudden movement. He laughed, and held her up, guiding her into a sitting position. 

“You get up, or I’ll haul you up.” Barnes said cheerfully, dousing the campfire with the water left in his canteen. The embers hissed and spit as they died in the night air. “Over my shoulder, don't get to thinkin’ I won't.”

Darcy scrambled upright, one hand to her temple and a flush on her cheeks. She disappeared into her tent without another look at him, and Barnes grinned to himself. He’d no desire to bed a girl half out of her mind on drink, and with any luck she’d not remember it in the morning anyhow. 

With even more luck, Rogers would get his head out of his ass and do more than look, but Barnes wasn’t holding his breath on that one anytime soon.


	3. Chapter Three

Dawn came, and with it the squawk of morning birds with a mind more on the day ahead than any of the three people who stirred slowly beneath them. Rogers, awake before the others, scrubbing at himself furiously in the stream and back to the camp before Barnes could will his eyes to open properly, was cooking beans over the campfire as the other man rolled out of their tent. 

“Mornin’” Barnes yawned, stretching upwards and scratching lazily at the bared skin of his stomach where his undershirt lifted. Rogers grunted over his shoulder in response and Barnes shook his head, a slow grin sliding over his face. 

“Kid, you better shake a leg or I’mma send Rogers in there to rouse ya,” Barnes called behind him in the direction of the other tent. He could see the tips of Rogers’ ears grow pink as he spoke, and snorted to himself. “If you didn’t know it was daylight already you’ll be gettin’ to think it’s a goddamn sunset if I hafta send him in, the colour of his face at the damn thought of it.”

Rogers rose in one movement and turned to Barnes, ladle in hand and an irritated expression on his broad face, just as Darcy stumbled from the tent, hair rumpled and clothes askew. The big blond’s hand dropped slightly as he stared at her a second, then kicked himself into gear as Barnes raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And how is your pretty little head this fine mornin’?” Barnes asked, grinning at her, and she mumbled something under her breath he couldn’t make head nor tail of, and made her way past him. Barnes watched as she wavered slightly through the trees, headed for the creek to make her toilet. 

“She alright?” Rogers asked with some concern, stepping up beside Barnes and looking after the girl as she disappeared into the tree line. The dark haired man shook his head with a small smile, watching her back, before he responded. 

“Just had a touch too much liquor in ‘er last night, she’ll be right as rain once she’s gotten some cold water on her face,” Barnes said, turning his attention to the beans that were bubbling over the little campfire. 

“Ever think maybe you oughta not give her liquor?” Rogers asked, arms folded. 

“Hey, kid’s gotta learn sometime,” Barnes answered with a shrug. 

\--------

The next few weeks saw them establish the same routine. 

Rise early, ride into town, Barnes visiting with Natasha and feeding back the scant information she was able - or willing, Rogers thought darkly to himself, stood yet again opposite the big wooden house that the dark-haired man disappeared into each day with a wink and a knowing grin - to pass on. The authorities were watching Rumlow’s gang, he’d gone to ground or so they believed, no one had seen hide nor hair of him for a clear month now. 

“That’s gotta be just after he shot my daddy,” Darcy announced sagely, when Barnes shared the last of Natasha’s information with them, the three of them collected around the campfire and swallowing down rashers of bacon with eggs. Rogers exchanged a look with Barnes and the dark haired man took a swig of bourbon before answering. 

“Yeah, I reckon that’s so,” he said, kicking off first one boot and then the other, before stretching his legs out and leaning back into his bedroll. 

“Ain’t that good?” Rogers asked, fork halfway to his mouth as he paused to look at Barnes, blue eyes searching. “If Rumlow’s gone to ground, maybe we don’t need to be chasin’ on after him. Maybe he’s hung up his spurs for good.”

“That man killed my father-” Darcy said hotly, flinging down her plate as she leaned forward, the campfire flashing in her eyes. Rogers, for all that he had a foot or so on her in height and a good hundred pounds or so in weight, moved back a little as she glared at him. 

“Alright, alright,” Barnes said with a sigh and a raised hand. “Let’s just settle. You-” he pointed at Darcy, who turned angry blue eyes on him. “We’re goin’ after the man. You-” he turned to Rogers, who’d turned slightly pink around the cheeks. “Don’t rile the kid.”

“I ain’t a kid-”

“I’m not rilin’ her-”

“Aw, Jesus, Mary and whatever goddamned saints can be bothered to spare their ears for listenin’, both of y’all just quit it.” Barnes snapped, and the pair fell silent, Darcy with a somewhat mutinous look on her face. “I’m goin’ to bed. You two either work it out or agree to not speak, I don’t much care which as long as you’re damn quiet about it.”

With that, he hauled himself up and flung himself through the tent flap, leaving them to eye each other warily. 

\---------

“We got a problem,” Barnes announced, arriving around the corner where Darcy and Rogers had been waiting for him, Rogers refusing flatly to stand another day loitering in front of - as he called it - a house of sin. 

Barnes was tucking his shirt back into his pants as he spoke, boots unlaced and trailing in the dust. Rogers flickered his eyes over the other man and raised an eyebrow, which Barnes returned. Darcy appeared not to notice, or potentially didn’t care. 

“They’re suspicious,” Barnes said, feeding his belt through the last loop and buckling it, pulling his pants tighter whilst he smoothed his shirt down. 

“So?” Rogers asked, with a shrug, leaning back against the hitching post where the horses were tied. 

“You soft in the head, son? They’re suspicious, of me,” Barnes said, accompanying his words by rapping Rogers’ on the forehead as he spoke, punctuating each word with a tap. “I can’t go in again, they’ll never give her anythin’ for us to work with.”

“So that’s that, then,” Rogers shrugged again, inwardly happy that he would no longer have to spend his days waiting for Barnes to emerge from the cat house, or endure the looks the other man gave him when he did. Like he knew the meaning of life and Rogers was just a kid missing out on it. 

“No, it ain’t,” Barnes said shortly, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing the other man with a look that started a suspicion rising within Rogers that he didn’t like the feel of in the slightest. “You need to go in.” 

Rogers started shaking his head, wild and backing up as he did it. “Nuh-uh. No way, no how.”

“I am not askin’ you to ride her,” Barnes snapped, and Rogers nearly fell over in embarrassment, flushed from the tips of his ears right down to where his shirt opened at his neck. “You just gotta go in there, she’ll tell you what we need to know, and then you can come back out again.”

“I don’t wanna go to a-”

“The Lord won’t like it?” Barnes said, devoid of sympathy.

“I won’t like it.” Rogers said mutinously. 

“How’d you know if you don’t try it?” Barnes countered. 

“It ain’t a new food, Barnes.” Rogers shot back hotly, trying to keep his voice down for fear of anyone overhearing what they were talking about. 

“I can do it.” Darcy piped up from behind them, and they both turned to her, having forgotten she was still there. The little brunette looked up at them innocently, one hand on the hitching rail and the other on her hip, challenging them to dissuade her. 

“Not sure you'd pass as a man, sweetheart,” Barnes coughed out a laugh, amused at her despite his frustration at the situation. “This ain't Shakespeare darlin’, and ain’t a man out there got a chest like yours.” He waved a hand toward her, and she glanced down at herself before meeting his eyes once more. 

Rogers deliberately kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Didn't mean as a man,” Darcy retorted, both hands now moved to her hips and rolling her eyes as though they were both of ‘em soft in the head. “It's a cat house ain't it?” 

There was a quiet pause as her meaning sank in.

“Oh Lord, no-” Rogers looked up at that, and it seemed they'd finally found about the one thing that offended him more than the idea of having to go in a brothel himself. He stuttered as he spoke and couldn’t make his eyes meet the girl’s, but he was nodding despite the look of terror on his face. “I'll, I'll do it. I'll go.”

“Clever move, kid,” Barnes said out of corner of his mouth to the girl as Rogers squared his shoulders with a look of determination more fitted to a man going into battle. “That had to be about the only thing could’ve persuaded him.”

“I meant it.” She fired back under her breath.

“Well I think that would have about upped and killed him stone dead.”

\-------

Rogers stood, awkward as all hell in the foyer of the house, shifting from one foot to the other as his eyes darted from one lampshade to the next, deliberately unable to fix on any of the ladies stood around him. 

“Is he slow?” Bernadette said in a low voice behind a hand to Natasha, and the redhead resisted the urge to put her head in her own hands. Behind the big blond, through the open doors, she could see Barnes lurking, leaning as inconspicuously as he was able to over the railing there. 

“Howdy, uh, I, uh,” Rogers’ blue eyes were wild as he frantically tried to work out how he ought to refer to her. The woman in front of him merely raised an eyebrow and waited. Rogers swallowed hard, and felt a bead of sweat form at the base of his neck and trickle under his shirt collar.

“Ma’am.” He finally settled on, with more purpose than he really felt about it. Rogers nodded to the redhead in front of him, and then hastily swiped his hat from his head, pawing at his hair to flatten it into something a little tidier. 

“Lord but James Barnes does test me,” She murmured, and he flushed a deeper pink than had already spread from the tips of his ears to his chest. “Come on,” Natasha barked, turning smartly on her heel and tossing the command over her shoulder as she walked. 

Rogers swallowed again, frozen to the spot under the scrutiny of the other girls, seemingly all staring at him. The redhead turned back to him again, one foot upon the first step of the staircase, and raised a delicate eyebrow to him. 

“I, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, and hurried after her.

\--------

“So James is sending in new recruits now?” Natasha asked, sitting at the little vanity table and giving him a calculating look in the mirror. Rogers hovered at the door, twisting his hat in his large hands and looking just about anywhere but at the girl sat across the room from him. 

“I, uh, miss - I’m just to hear the information y’all have to give,” Rogers stuttered out, now looking out of the window, where the pretty patterned hangings danced in the breeze. Natasha twisted in the seat, throwing an arm over the back of it and looked at him properly. Her green eyes took him in whole, from his boots to his hair and everything in between. 

They narrowed. 

“Just information?” She said slowly, a knowing smile beginning to creep across her face as she spoke. “That’s not all James has when he comes here.”

Rogers looked hard at a crack in the ceiling that stretched from the top of the window frame to the middle of the room, splitting across it like lightning. 

“That’s all I’m lookin’ for, miss,” he said evenly, hands clasped together in front of him. Natasha opened her mouth to respond, surprised at more or less the only man who’d stood in her bedchamber and not looked with hungry eyes between her and the mattress, but was interrupted by the sounds of angry shouting and feet thudding on the staircase. 

“Get on the bed-” She hissed, throwing a wild look at the door.

“What?” Rogers said blankly, and then she was across the room in an instant, shoving him down with surprising strength given her slim frame, and climbing over him. “What, lady, no-”

“Shut your pie hole and make like you wanna be here, and not for your damn information.” She growled into his ear. “Unless you prefer bein’ full of buckshot and six feet under?” The woman didn't wait for his answer before she ripped his shirt open and mouthed up his bare chest. 

“They watch you?” Rogers hissed, shutting his eyes tight so that he couldn’t watch as she hauled his hands up and over her, one to her ass and one to her breast. She slapped him on the cheek and they opened again in shock.

“Only when they suspect somethins’ up. And somethin’ is up when somethin’ ain't up, if you catch my meanin’.” She grit out with her lips pressed to his temple, and rolled her hips against him. He squirmed underneath her, the blush travelling from his face down his neck and across his broad chest. “So keep your eyes open and at least look like you're enjoyin’ yourself.”

“I'm tryin’-” He said, reciting the Lord's Prayer in his head at double speed, almost mouthing the words in his panic as his hands reflexively squeezed mounds of creamy soft skin. The footsteps thumping on the stairs got progressively louder, the voices higher and more angry.

“Roll me.”

“What?” Rogers froze, hands on her still, and looked at her askance. 

“Jesus, I gotta do everything? Your woman must be left wantin’.”

“Ain't got a woman,” he snapped, and hauled them over to a chorus of twanging bed springs until he was bearing down on her. Rogers groaned and dropped his head into the crook of her neck, hiding his pinked face as her legs tangled around his waist and tugged him closer to her, pressing her lithe body right up against his own.

“Now that I do believe,” she said flatly. “Undo your pants.” He shook his head where it was still flattened against her shoulder, eyes tight shut and wishing he'd never met James Buchanan Barnes. Natasha cursed under her breath, with a wild look at the door, the voices still shouting outside it. She turned back to him, practically spitting out her words between her teeth. 

“Listen I don't know what your mamma told you ‘bout the birds and the bees, but they gotta come off.”

“But we ain't doing anythin’-” Rogers said plaintively. She cursed again, more creatively and harsh in his ear, then bent forward at what seemed an impossible angle from underneath him and hauled up the bedclothes around his hips, covering them.

“Happy now?” She snapped. “You need to thrust.” 

Without waiting for the plea that was sure to follow her words, she tightened the grip of her thighs around him and pulled him to her, loosening and tightening until he was jerking up against her of his own accord. “Now you're gettin’ it-” She trailed off her words into a deep moan, throwing her head back and closing her eyes, and Rogers stopped immediately, panicking, thinking he'd done damage.

“Are you okay?”

“Son, if she's makin’ that noise for ya, you're okay.”

Rogers blinked and raised his head, realising dimly that the door had been thrown open and a large man, shirt buttons straining over his gut as it dropped over his belt, stood by the side of the bed. There was a leer across the man’s face that turned Rogers’ stomach, even more so than the fact he was half dressed and pushed up against woman he’d met only fifteen minutes beforehand. 

“You quite done? Or are you needin’ to pay an extra couple of dollars? ‘Cause it'll cost ya if you want to pull up a chair.” Natasha said tartly, and accompanied her words with a slow but sensuous roll of her hips against Rogers, which had him stuttering back against her with a squeak that he tried to turn into something an octave or so lower, without much success. 

The man in the doorway snorted. 

“Don’t think I wanna be seein’ the mess you’ll make of this one, Tasha,” he said, running his eyes over the pair of them, and grinning at the deep flush that covered Rogers. The blond ducked his head towards the girl’s shoulder and rested it there, breathing hard. The man laughed again, hearty and jovial, a slight sneer colouring the edge of it. 

“Boy, she gone eat you alive, and you’re gonna love every damn second of it,” he said, his eyes scoring along the line of Natasha’s breasts as they heaved in her bodice, pushed up Rogers’ chest. “Believe me.”

With a wink, he was gone, the door shutting tight behind him. 

“Oh god-”

Rogers pushed himself off Natasha instantly, rolling to one side and clambering inelegantly off the bed, standing upright with his shirt askew, his pants unbuckled and one hand massaging his forehead, face still bright pink. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but it's just me.”

Rogers started, and turned on his heel to find Barnes sat with one leg astride each side of the window ledge. The dark-haired man tipped him a wink and then nodded to the redhead, who promptly threw a less than polite gesture his way. Barnes grinned. 

“What're you doing?” Rogers asked, hurriedly tucking his shirt back into his pants and re-buttoning it over his chest. 

“Makin’ sure you don't get shot.” Barnes answered, with a sniff, drumming his hands on the window ledge as he sat there. 

“I've had quite enough of that today.” Rogers muttered darkly, finishing up fixing his pants and shirt, straightening his hair flat once more, bending to peer into Natasha’s vanity mirror to do it. Barnes gave him a slow once over, taking in his dishevelled state and the rumpled bedclothes.

“Nice time?” He said, with a grin and a jerk of his head toward to the redhead, his tongue running along his lower lip as he raised his eyebrow to the big blond. Natasha was fixing her own clothes back into place and taking no notice of either of them.

“Don't you start-”

“They're after someone, but it ain't you.” Natasha said quietly, bent at the waist and one ear to the door, listening carefully. 

“Who then?” Rogers asked, looking worried. 

“Not the time for questions. Just get your ass out of here, meet me out front. If they ain't after you, you should leave by the front door, quiet like.” Barnes flung his leg over the ledge again, then paused and looked back into the room. “Oh, and uh, don't forget to pay the lady, will ya?”

“Pay?” Rogers looked bewildered. “But we didn't-”

“But he thinks we did,” Natasha interrupted, jerking a thumb over her shoulder toward the closed door, indicating he supposed the man who’d burst through the door and watched them “And you'd better hope he don't get to thinkin’ we didn't.” The redhead stepped forward, looking expectant. 

“Oh, for-” Rogers grumbled and dug in his pockets.

\--------

Rogers, pockets considerably lighter than when he’d entered the cat house, and mood considerably lower - no mean feat, accounting for the fact he’d wanted to be nowhere near it in the first place - caught up with Barnes at the front of the building. The other flashed him a grin which he did not return. 

“Ah, don’t be like that,” Barnes said, slapping him firmly on the back. “You know, you could’ve released some tension there, no one woulda judged ya, least of all me.”

“Ain’t your judgement I’m concerned with,” Rogers answered, shrugging Barnes’ hand off his shoulder and earning himself a laugh as he did so. He opened his mouth, to say what he wasn’t quite sure, and was interrupted by another round of shouting coming from the house behind them. 

They both turned to look, craning their heads up at a third floor window which crashed open, a man clambering onto the window ledge with his braces dangling from his pants and hitting his thighs as he moved. The window next door to it contained three women, half dressed and even then only in their underwear, calling out to the man who edged onto the ledge gingerly. 

“Holy-” Rogers caught himself as a half-clothed figure fell into the water trough behind them. “What on earth is that?”

Barnes turned as well, hands on hips, and looked at the man breaking the surface of the water, gasping for air. 

“I reckon that’s probably who they were lookin’ for,” he said cheerfully. The figure in the trough stood up, but couldn’t quite manage on his own to exit the thing. Huffing, he sat back down in the trough, water cascading over the sides of it as he flopped back. Wrinkling his nose and pushing a hand through sodden dark hair, he blinked up at the two men stood in front of him. 

“Say, don't suppose you can give a fella a hand there?”

“Reckon that depends on what side of the law you're on-” Rogers started, and Barnes rolled his eyes. Tucking his sleeves up past his elbows, he offered one to the other man and, with one leg braced against the water trough, hauled him out.

“Much obliged.” Said the stranger, shaking himself thoroughly and doing an awfully good impression of a drowned rat. There was a commotion behind them, and all three men turned to see the brothel owner hanging from an upstairs window, shaking his fist and shouting angrily. Rogers looked at the stranger in alarm. 

“Well.” The man said, wrinkling his nose again and rubbing his hands together, turning away from the building as though he couldn’t hear a thing. “Don’t suppose I could interest either of you fellas in a drink?”

\------

“This is, uh, this is my workshop-”

The man, still dripping and leading the way with wet footprints, proudly pushed open a pair of barn doors and waved dramatically at the inside of it. Barnes stepped forward, nodding with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, leather duster swinging behind him as he looked around. Rogers followed on cautiously behind. 

Their new friend unbuttoned his shirt briskly and discarded it over the back of a broken chair, stripped down to a sodden undershirt as he walked across the barn floor. He stopped in front of a large cabinet, and flung it open, revealing a well stocked bar sat behind it, glasses and all. 

Barnes brightened considerably, and Rogers sighed. 

The stranger pulled out three glasses and filled them generously with bourbon. Barnes sank his in one, a strangled thank you just about making it out of him before he swallowed. Rogers shook his head as his was offered over, and Barnes took that one as well with a grin. The other man chinked his own glass against the one that Barnes was about to down, and the pair knocked them back together. 

“Stark, is it.” Rogers said, politely but through gritted teeth all the same. 

“That's the name.” The shorter man peered up at him, then turned away abruptly, grasping the bottle of bourbon and wandering away. Barnes followed him, glass in hand. Rogers shot Barnes a loaded look from across the room, and the dark haired man did nothing but wink in response. 

“So, this, gentlemen, is my magnum opus,” Stark said grandly, gesturing to a large covered shape sat in the middle of the barn floor. “Seein’ as you’re both clearly upstanding fellas who enjoy a decent liquor and the finest company money can buy-” Rogers sent Barnes a despairing look at that. -”you should both have the very first look at this.”

With that, he yanked at the nearest corner of the muslin cover, and it slid off, revealing a large odd shaped thing. Rogers looked at it blankly. It had wheels like a carriage, and seats like a carriage, but there were no traces, no place that he could see for a man to guide the horses that would need to pull it. 

And it was painted a fearsome bright red colour, almost offensive to the eye. 

He took a step back from it, glancing over at Barnes who was giving it a critical look from where he stood, although one eye was clearly on the bottle still in Stark’s hand. 

“What - what is it?” Rogers asked finally. 

Stark stood back, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and staining it liberally with soot in the process. 

“It’s a horseless carriage.” 

Rogers looked doubtful. Barnes looked mildly impressed. 

“Mark my words gentlemen, one day, everyone’ll have one,” Stark nodded with conviction and slapped the side of his machine, before smoothing his palm along its flank with not a small amount of pride. 

Rogers tugged at Barnes’ arm, pulling him back a pace or two away from the other man and his unlikely machine. 

“I like him,” Barnes said under his breath, nodding approvingly as the man - Stark - hopped into one of the seats and made odd vroom-vroom noises, turning a wheel he’d affixed to the front of the machine.

“He’s mad,” Rogers said flatly. 

“More’n a bag o’ cats,” Barnes said cheerfully. “But since I can’t shoot straight anymore, the kid’s a gal, you’re an uptight son of a-” Rogers shot him a dark look and Barnes grinned. “-Preacher, and we’re all three of us chasin’ on after a man with no name, I reckon mad is just about what we’re lookin’ for.”

\---------

Rogers had finally dragged Barnes away from Stark - or, more accurately, away from his generously offered bottle of bourbon - rounded up Darcy and the horses, ignored her sullen comments about being left all day, and herded them all back to the camp. 

Now he lay on his back in the tent, Barnes snoring lightly next to him, and his mind drifted uncomfortably to the redheaded woman he’d been trapped underneath earlier that day. Unwittingly, unbidden, his thoughts turned to the handfuls of flesh he’d kneaded, and the way his hips had jerked against her. 

He told himself he hadn’t wanted to do it, that he’d been forced into the situation. And that much was true, but it didn’t explain how every time he tried to close his eyes and let himself drift into much needed sleep, the images came back. 

And back, and back - and every other time the girl was not redheaded but had a mop of dark hair and flashing blue eyes as she ground against him. He let out a frustrated sigh under his breath and rolled awkwardly, pants uncomfortable and tight. It was a sensation he’d had before, but he’d always managed to will it away. 

Tonight, it was sticking around. 

“Can you quit that shiftin’?” Barnes snapped, and Rogers froze on the bedroll next to him. A moment or so passed, and he could hear the bedclothes rustle again. 

“I’m sorry - I can’t - can’t help it,” Rogers mumbled. “Can’t get - comfortable.”

There was something in the way the man spoke, more than what it was that his voice was tight and the shift from his hips that caught Barnes’ attention, that told him more than the huge blond man beside him was ever likely to do. 

“Ah, Jesus, Rogers.” Barnes groaned to the tent roof. “I done right by you a number of times now, but I ain't your daddy and it ain't my place to hafta tell you where to stick it. Work it out for yourself like generations of men before you.”

Rogers flushed hard, that much Barnes could tell even in the dark of the tent. 

“I ain’t stickin’ anythin’ anywhere,” he managed finally, voice high and rolling so that his back was facing Barnes. His hips still moved awkward though, and the other man knew that he was tenting in his pants, finding it hard to lay properly with it. Barnes rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t gotta stick it places,” he said snappishly, rolling himself to the other side, so that they were both back to back. He didn’t need a front row seat if Rogers was about to get himself off, he just needed the idiot to do it so they both could catch some sleep. “Just tug it out already.”

There was a pregnant pause in the tent, and tension filled the air between them even more than it filled Rogers’ trousers. 

“Tug it out?” The other man said slowly, voice low and uncertain. 

“Son, you mean to tell me you ain't even laid hands on your own self?” Barnes said, reeling back, and turning in his bed roll toward the other man again, despite himself. Rogers scuffed his feet in the dirt, legs too long for his bedroll, and looked mulish.

“Ain't that uncommon of a thing.” He grumbled, without looking back. 

“It is, and don't let no bastard tell you otherwise.” Barnes said sharply. “It's one of the few free pleasures in life, and God but it pains me to know you ain't even managed it.”

“Aw, shut up Barnes.” Rogers mumbled, pink as all hell. Minutes passed, and he shifted awkward again, wishing the feeling away, the push of his cock in his pants as it strained against the buttons. 

Something in him snapped. 

Rogers scrambled up and pushed his way out of the tent. Barnes, somewhat incredulous, propped an elbow and rested his head in his hand, watching the broad back disappear out of the tent flaps. 

The woods were dark, and Rogers wound his way into them, for fear of being seen. Barnes already knew, and the last thing he needed was for anyone to happen upon him, least of all - he couldn’t bring himself to think her name, but Darcy’s face flashed through his mind and Rogers groaned, his cock throbbing in his pants at the same time. 

He backed up against a tree, and unbuttoned his trousers with shaking hands, letting out a moan of relief as his cock jumped free. It stood to attention, hard and proud, curving up against the planes of his stomach, and Rogers looked down at it, biting his lip. 

Hesitantly, he put one large hand around it, and squeezed. 

A gasp fell from his lips and he jerked his hand back guiltily, the noise feeling as though it had thundered around him. Heart thumping on the inside of his rib cage, blood thrumming in his ears as though they were fit to burst, Rogers grit his teeth and moved his hand back to his cock. 

This time, as he gripped at it, he was ready for the sensation, and managed to curb the sounds he wanted to make. Gently, he moved his hand up, then back, the skin shifting over it as he moved, and the feel of it shot through him like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Breath catching in his throat, his hand moved almost of its own accord, faster, then a little slower, then with a harder grip until he was pumping into his own hand, curved over himself away from the tree and grunting at the feel of it. 

Rogers thrust into his own hand, gripping and squeezing and feeling the way his cock grew even hotter under his touch. He could feel something creeping up on him, a feeling that was tight and hot and curling in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but couldn’t seem to stop himself from racing toward. 

Images shot through his head as he pumped, unwanted and unclaimed but dancing through all the same. Some of the redheaded girl, Barnes’ girl, Natasha - the way she’d moved against him, the jerk of his hips against her, the feel of her creamy skin under his hands. But mostly of Darcy, the defiant tilt to her chin as she argued with him yet again, the way she was poured into those breeches like they’d been moulded to her, the way her shift had gone see-through when she’d waded into the creek and he’d looked, Lord help him but he’d looked and-

Rogers came with a low shout, jerking and shuddering his release over his hand and looking down at the sticky mess in wonder. He’d managed to avoid his pants, by some miracle and certainly not design as he’d probably have been hard pressed to remember his own name, but it was dripping from his hand and splattered across the dust and dirt in front of him. 

Ashamed, yet with a growing satisfied feeling uncurling from the pit of his stomach and starting to spread over him, he kicked at the mess on the ground, covering it with dirt. His hand he wiped liberally on the long grass next to him, then spit into his hand for good measure and wiped it again. 

Buttoning his pants back up, and knowing that his face was glowing probably damn near brighter than the sun at midday, he made his way back to the tent. Ducking into it, he was relieved to find Barnes drooling into his bedroll and snoring like a freight train. Rogers could feel his muscles tire, and sleep creeping around his shoulders. He dropped into his own bedroll and only just had the presence of mind to haul the blanket up about himself before he was lost to dreams himself.


End file.
